


A sky of autumn

by littlebirdfalling, Prettypettypansexual



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Claquesous as Riff, Enjolras as Bernardo, F/M, Jehan as maria, M/M, Montparnasse as tony, Multi, Non-Binary Jean Prouvaire, Other, West Side Story AU, because I'm gay and I said so, genderfluid Eponine, it's the 1950's but there's no homophobia, nonbinary fauntleroy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 03:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14824118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlebirdfalling/pseuds/littlebirdfalling, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prettypettypansexual/pseuds/Prettypettypansexual
Summary: “My hands are cold,” they breathe.Without thinking, he reaches out and clasps the angel’s slender fingers in his own. A chill runs up his spine.“Mine too.” As if that’s why he shivers, as if that’s why his skin is turning a faint shade of red and his breath is caught in his lungs. Not a moment later, their hands are laid on his face, fingers sliding across his cheek.





	A sky of autumn

**Author's Note:**

> We're so happy to finally be able to showcase this! We've both been very hard at work on this for weeks, trying to get it just right, so without further adieu here's the chapter!
> 
> TW for some violence

“Look sharp, kids.” Claquesous calls, with a snap of his fingers. They fall into line behind him, as they always do, and he spares a moment to grin to himself. That’s Patron Minette-fast, loyal, efficient. They run these streets. There’s not anybody in town not scared of them, Claquesous thinks, with no little satisfaction. 

“Well, if it isn’t Patron Minette.” 

Except him.

“Whaddya want, Enjolras?” Claquesous asks, folding his arms.

“This is Les amis territory.” Enjolras replies, smoothly. 

“Ohhh, you hear that? This is  _ les amis _ territory.” Claquesous turns to the rest of Patron Minette dramatically. “Whaddya think, should we get outta here?”

“No!” They cry as one. 

“Well, buddy boy, looks like you’re outta luck.” 

Enjolras snaps his fingers, and Les Amis assembles behind him in a matter of seconds. Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Grantaire, Cosette-everyone’s there, and Claquesous has the sneaking suspicion that they’re outnumbered. But that’s never stopped him before. 

“Well, Enjolras?” Combeferre asks. “ _ Qué hacemos _ ?”

“ _ Defenderse.”  _  Enjolras says, tersely. 

“Go.” Claquesous spits.

And that’s when all hell breaks loose. Patron Minette and Les Amis are flying at each other in a mess of limbs. It’s impossible to tell who’s where, who’s fighting who, because everything is chaos.

“ _ JAVERT!”  _ Eponine cries loudly, startling everyone in both gangs. The fighting ends as quickly as it started, as Javert comes strolling up the street. 

“All right, all right, knock it off. You wanna kill each other, then kill each other. But not on  _ my _ beat.”

“Oh, good morning, inspector Javert!” Claquesous says, feigning innocence.

“Good morning inspector Javert!” Everyone choruses behind him. Javert rolls his eyes, and then his gaze focuses on Enjolras.

“This neighborhood really has gone to the dogs. Which one of ‘em hit you, Fauntleroy?” Fauntleroy, bleeding from the mouth and a gash on their cheek, spits. They’re not gonna tell him  _ anything, _ and everybody knows it.

“Actually, sir, we think it was a cop that done it.” Claquesous grins cheekily.

“Two cops!” Gueulemer chimes in.

“Oh, at least.” Bizarro agrees.

“That’s impossible.” Javert scoffs. “Didn’t anybody tell you there’s a difference between snitchin’ and cooperatin’ with the law?”

“I think you just did, sir.” Claquesous says. Javert rolls his eyes. 

“Enjolras, get your trash outta here.” There’s a long, tense moment, where Enjolras is staring Javert down. At last, though, he snaps his fingers.

“Les Amis,  _ vamanos. _ ” Everyone’s eyes follow the gang down the street.

“Now, you listen to me.” Javert says. “I got a surprise-you don’t own these streets. So you’re gonna make nice with Les Amis if it kills ya. Because if you don’t, I’m gonna beat the crap outta every single one of you and then lock you up for good. We clear?”

“Crystal.” Claquesous spits.

“Goodbye, boys.” 

“ _ Goodbye, boys. _ ” Gueulemer mocks, as soon as he’s out of sight. “Why I oughta-”

“Cool your jets, Guel.” Claquesous says, quelling him. “Circle round, kids, circle round. Here’s the deal. This street is ours. Hell, this whole town’s ours. But those Les Amis are movin in right under our noses. Are we gonna stand for that?”

“We ain’t.” Gueulemer says vehemently.

“Damn right we ain’t.” Fauntleroy agrees.

“Here’s the deal-we’s gonna challenge them to a proper rumble.”

“What if they ask to use guns?” Gueulemer asks.

“ _ Guns? _ ” Babet exclaims.

“Well, I ain’t saying they will or nothin, but they could.” Claquesous agrees. “But this is our turf, and so we gotta take the trash out.”

“You gotta take a lieutenant.” Fauntleroy tells him.

“That’s me, buddy boy.” Gueulemer grins.

“That’s Montparnasse.” Claquesous says, despite groans all around.

“Montparnasse? Whaddya want Montparnasse for?” Bizarro asks.

“We need every member we got.”

“Aw, he ain’t a member anymore.” Gueulemer complains.

“Cool it, Gueulemer, Parnasse and I started this together.”

“Well, he sure acts like he don’t wanna belong.” 

“He’ll come around.” Claquesous says, dismissively. “When you’re a member of Patron Minette, you’re in for life. I’ll see all a’ you at the dance tonight, and you best be lookin sharp.”

 

“Awww, c’mon Parnasse.” Claquesous whines. “How come? You can’t just say no without saying how come.”

“Why not?” Montparnasse asks, flashing him a smirk as he turns to adjust the sign. 

“Because it’s me asking, Parnasse, c’mon! Your old pal Sous, womb to tomb.” He pleads.

“Sperm to worm.”  Montparnasse adds, pushing his hair off his head. In the heat, it won’t stay where it’s meant to, and it’s driving him crazy.  “You sure this looks okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s brilliant.” Claquesous says, impatiently.

“27 years, the boss has had that sign. I figure something new will surprise him.”

“ _ Parnasse. _ ” Claquesous says, half shaking the ladder. “This is important!” Montparnasse only shakes his head, and Claquesous sighs dramatically. “What’s with you, Parnasse? Four an’ one half years I live with a guy. Four an’ one half years, I oughta know a man’s character. Buddy boy, I am a victim of disappointment in you.”

“Come on then, end your suffering.” Montparnasse taunts. “Why don’t you pack up your gear and clear out?”

“Cause your sister’s hot for me.” Claquesous winks, and Montparnasse all but leaps off the ladder, twisting Claquesous’s arm behind his back. “No! Okay! It’s cause I hate living with my buggin uncle! Uncle uncle  _ UNCLE! _ ” Montparnasse lets go, a teasing grin on his face as Claquesous rubs his arm in mock pain. 

“Now, go play nice with Patron Minette.” Montparnasse tells him, turning back to the ladder. He can tell Claquesous is grinning, even with his back turned.

“Patron Minette is the greatest!” He cries, arms spread wide.

“Was.” Montparnasse corrects absentmindedly.

“ _ Is. _ ” Claquesous sounds almost angry. “What, you found something better? Decide you’s too good for us lowlifes?” 

“No!” Montparnasse defends himself. “But-”

“But what?”

“You won’t like it.” Montparnasse warns.

“Try me.” Claquesous replies, folding his arms.

“Okay.” He sits down hard on the bottom rung of the ladder, rubbing his head with one hand. “Every night, every single night for the last damn month, I wake up and I’m reaching out.”

“For what?” Asks Sous, his natural curiosity piqued.

“I don’t know.” Parnasse admits. “But it’s right around the corner, outside the door. It’s coming, and I’m damn sure going to be ready!”

“What  _ is _ it, though?” 

“I don’t know! It’s like-it’s like the kick I used to get from being part of Patron Minette.”

“Or from being buddies.” Claquesous mutters, looking away.

“We’re still buddies.” Montparnasse reminds him, clapping him on the shoulder.

“The kick comes from people, buddy boy. And who better than Patron Minette? Without a gang, you’re just an orphan! But with a gang? With a gang, you’s walking tall, in twos, threes, fours. And when your gang is the best? When you’re with Patron Minette? You’re out in the sun and home free!” Montparnasse stays silent, and Claquesous decides to use a different approach. “C’mon, Parnasse. I never asked the time a’ day from a clock. But I’m askin’ you. Come to the dance tonight.” Montparnasse turns away, and Claquesous decides to use the dead ringer up his sleeve. “I already told the gang you’d be there.” That one gets him, he can see the words hit their mark in the way Parnasse’s shoulders tense up, or the involuntary groan he lets out. To not go, when the whole gang is expecting him, would label him soft forever. Montparnasse may no longer consider himself a part of Patron Minette, but the gangs rejection would hurt him more than he’s willing to admit.   
“What time?” Montparnasse asks, at last.

“10.”

“10 it is.” He sighs.

“Womb to tomb!” Claquesous rejoices.   
“Sperm to worm.” Montparnasse replies, with a sigh. “I’ll live to regret this.”

 

On the other side of town, Jehan is walking down from their room to go to dinner. They’ve just finished reading Dante’s  _ La Divina Commedia _ **,** and walk with a new spring in their step. There’s something about queries of life and death that resonates within their soul. Where others see depressing and morose topics, Jehan sees poetry and a certain beauty.

It’s nearly seven in the afternoon, and they’re hungry. As soon as Jehan gets to the bottom of the stairs, they turn to the kitchen. 

“R, what are you doing here?”

“Your brother and I were arguing again, I came down here to cool down. Here, have a seat.” Grantaire pulls out a chair and motions for Jehan to sit. “Your brother is a peculiar man. Sharp and bright, a real star in the sky, but this star seems to be so far away he doesn’t have a clue what’s happening on Earth. A great man to Les Amis, sure. But we know other sides of him, don’t we, Jehan? He seems to others a hero, a great Achilles, but he has one fatal flaw- his pride. He thinks he has nothing to fear, but he’s not yet spotted the spot of an arrow in the distance, he’s not yet conquered his pride. And oh! What a pride it is! Not only does it control him, but through him, it controls us. Achilles fears his loving Patroclus, because his tongue is sharp and his words cut deep. He has the ability to show Achilles’ true self to the others, so Achilles fears him. Does he not know that love runs deeper than envy? Does he not know that his Patroclus would sooner die for him than let him take a hit? I love him so, Jehan, but it seems to me that he doesn’t understand how much.” Grantaire lets out a sigh and, with a slight air of drunkenness, lets his head drop to the table. “Speak of the devil.”

Jehan turns around just as Enjolras enters the room. 

“You were calling me an angel merely an hour ago, were you not?”

“Angel might indeed fit you better. Nothing but following commands and giving out orders, day after day,” Grantaire rebukes.

Enjolras looks down at his boyfriend, still slumped over on the table, with a confused look on his face. “Then what should I be doing better?” Grantaire snaps his head up from the table, staring dead into Enjolras’ eyes.

“Let them go to the dance.”

“Jehan!?” Enjolras asks incredulously. “But they-” A single look from his boyfriend cuts him short.

“I know you’ve seen the dress hanging over the chair. What, did you think it was for my little sister? You know she’s just ten years old.” Grantaire focuses his now intense gaze on Jehan, caught in the act of slowly backing their chair away from the arguing couple. “What are you waiting for, Jehan? The dance is in an hour. Try it on!”

Jehan turns and races up the stairs.

Just as Grantaire promised, the dress is on the chair. It’s a beautiful pale pink color, with elegant sleeves and a deep collar. When they put it on, it falls gently over their legs, and when they spin, it forms a halo around them, as if they were dancing on air. With tears in their eyes, Jehan rushes downstairs, straight into Grantaire’s waiting arms.

“It’s perfect.” When Jehan takes a step back, they realize that Grantaire’s all dressed up. They look to their left and see Enjolras, in a complementary outfit, standing by the door.

“Ready to go, pequeño poeta?”

  
  


“Hold still, would ya?” Gueulemer mutters.

“Aw, c’mon Guel. I don’t understand why I gotta wear this.”

“Cause you gotta look sharp.” Gueulemer replies impatiently, threading the green carnation through Claquesous’s buttonhole.

“Hey, I do look sharp.” Gueulemer snorts. 

“Sure ya do, buddy boy-for a hoodlum!” 

“I ain’t a hoodlum, I’m an upstanding citizen.”

“Whatever you gotta tell yourself.” He steps back, giving Claquesous a once over, and nods. “You’s ready.” 

The two step out onto the street, into the fading twilight. Gueulemer lets his hand fall to his side, lets it brush against Claquesous’s.

Claquesous takes it.

 

“Okay, okay children!” Valjean calls, trying in vain to quiet the dance room. “Now, we’re going to make two circles-one on the outside, one on the inside. And when the circle stops, you gotta dance with whoever’s across from you. Okay?” 

“Aww, c’mon.” Somebody hollers.

“Well, it won’t hurt you to try!” Valjean says, attempting to smile.

“Oh, it hurts!” Fauntleroy yells. “It hurts, it hurts!” 

Javert clears his throat, crossing his arms, and the room quiets. There are still some mutterings of disagreement, some jeers, but then Claquesous steps onto the dance floor, arms crossed. Gueulemer follows, standing across from him. Enjolras and Grantaire step onto the dance floor next, Grantaire’s eyes never leaving Enjolras, and slowly the rest begin to follow. 

“That’s right, round and round the circle goes, and where she stops nobody knows!” Valjean calls.

The music stops, leaving people in… awkward positions. Claquesous is across from Combeferre, Enjolras across from Fauntleroy, Courfeyrac across from Bizarro. There’s a long tense moment, and then Claquesous reaches across to take Gueulemer’s hand, as Enjolras reaches for Grantaire. The sides split back up, even as Valjean protests. 

 

As the old song ends and the new one picks up, a hush seems to fall over the crowd. When Montparnasse lifts his gaze to meet the gazes of everyone else, a figure draped in pink caught his eye. Suddenly, time slows down. The new arrival makes their way across the room, and Parnasse finds himself drawing closer to them. The pounding of his heart falls into step with the ticking of his watch, and each step across the room seems like thunder. The angel in pink takes his hands in theirs, and just like that, time resumes its course. A wave of realization crashes into Montparnasse- they are one of Les Amis, and he’s royally screwed. Biting his lip, he looks into the stranger’s eyes.

“You're not under the impression that I'm somebody else?”

“l know you are not,” they reply.

“Or that we’ve met before?”

“I know we have not.”

It is then that realization strikes Montparnasse. Perhaps it’s merely a change of the wind, or maybe it’s a new beginning brought on by the fates themselves. It doesn’t matter to him, as long as it never goes away. This is the change Parnasse had seen coming, that he’d hoped  could be the start of something new. 

“l felt-” he begins, only to cut himself off.    
_ This wasn’t a mere feeling, not an emotion that could be pinned down with words. It was the flutter of hope, the promise of more. He didn’t just feel it, he believed it.  _ He started again. 

“l knew something never before was going to happen… had to happen, but this is so much more.”

Suddenly, the stranger in pink holds their hands out to Montparnasse, and drops their gaze. “My hands are cold,” they breathe. 

Without thinking, he reaches out and clasps the angel’s slender fingers in his own. A chill runs up his spine.

“Mine too.”  _ As if that’s why he shivers, as if that’s why his skin is turning a faint shade of red and his breath is caught in his lungs. _ Not a moment later, their hands are laid on his face, fingers sliding across his cheek. 

“So warm,” they say. 

A smile hints at the corner of Parnasse’s lips. “So beautiful.”

“Beautiful,” they repeat, staring into his eyes and _oh god his heart is flopping all over the place he can’t breathe let alone make eye contact and now_ _they’re smiling up at him and-_

“It is so much to believe”

“You're not joking?” Surely this stranger knows who he is. It isn’t as if he tries to hide it, he wears the capital P and M proudly on the chest of his jacket. They are an Ami, there could be no possible way they’d willingly walk to him, could there?

Either the angel doesn’t notice, or they don’t care, as the flirting persists. 

“I have not learned how to joke that way,” they whisper. “I think now I never will.” With that said, they lean in for a kiss.

Their lips had barely touched when Montparnasse felt them being yanked roughly away, their hands grasping at his.

“Get your hands off Jehan, American!” The man snarls. Thrusting Jehan behind himself, he lifts his chin and glares at a very bewildered Montparnasse. “Stay away from my sibling!”

Parnasse whirls around, vexed that he’d been so rudely interrupted. When he sees who he is talking to, however, he forgets all about it. It’s Enjolras.

So that means that this is Jehan, Enjolras’s...

“Sibling?” 

Enjolras glares up at him in obvious contempt before turning back around to face Jehan. “Couldn't you see he's one of them?”

Up until this point, Jehan was still in a lovestruck daze, yet this harsh remark seems to sober them completely. Now sensing the danger of the tension in the air, they take a step back. “No, l saw only him.” 

Enjolras narrows his eyes. “There's only one thing they want from a Puerto Rican kid.” Jehan moves forwards, as if to protest this statement, but Montparnasse speaks up before Jehan does anything that might get them in trouble.

“That's a lie.”  _ As if he could ever just use someone and toss them aside. Jehan might be one of Les Amis, but he was far above that, how dare that little- _

Enjolras speaks once more, cutting off his train of thought. “Later, Montparnasse.” Jehan waves ruefully, and he waves back.  _ Who wouldn’t he kill to see his angel again? _

“Enjolras.” Claquesous says, grabbing at his arm as Enj starts towards Montparnasse.

“I don’t want  _ you. _ ” He says, crossly.

“But I want you.” Claquesous replies. “A war council, Les Amis and Patron Minette.” Enjolras stares at him for a long moment.

“The pleasure is mine.” He says, at last. Claquesous nods.  
“Bishop Myriel’s store, tonight. And no funny business beforehand, understand?”

“Oh, I understand the rules, american. I will see you there.”

“Good.” Claquesous turns to tell Montparnasse-but he has vanished from the scene.

“Parnasse?” He calls, looking around the room.  
Nobody answers.

 


End file.
